Collision Course
by pieandsouffle
Summary: The 11th Doctor and Clara meet the Winchesters. But of course there are complications, as both the TARDIS and Sam have gone missing. Rated T for Dean's mouth.
1. The New Case

**My first crossover fic! I hope I've got the characterisation right (I'm neither English nor American, so I don't know how they speak). Please review (I like hearing feedback). I hope you enjoy!**

Sam had to admit, this was one of the more interesting cases. It was one of the cases Dad hadn't managed to solve, which meant it was hugely complex and hard to get to the bottom of. And it didn't make any sense at all.

They had been visiting Bobby for the first time in a few months. After the usual annoyed, yet fond, greeting from Bobby, he had immediately given them a case.

"An old case has resurfaced in Britain," he had said. "I'd be going myself, but I needa take care of things here. So, you two idjits are going for me, as long as you don't mess it up." Oh, and there was a complication, of course. Dean would have to suffer through a plane flight.

The case was very different from anything they had taken care of before. Dean had immediately departed to go to the closest bar to recover from the thought of going on a plane, and had left Sam and Bobby to do the research. The Internet revealed surprisingly little, but thankfully Bobby pointed out, "It's an old case, ya idjit. Your Daddy's journal should have some stuff in it."

Practically nothing had been in the journal, but enough to decide that they'd be going. So now they were sitting, waiting for the plane to take off. Sam had to practically drag Dean onto the aircraft, his older brother complaining and muttering about the last flight they had been on, when a demon had nearly crashed the plane. It was terrifying at the time, but after they had exorcised it, and landed, Sam couldn't help but find Dean's obvious discomfort slightly amusing. Dean always looked at him with a look that could kill when Sam mentioned his phobia of flying, but he personally thought it was fair. Dean took delight in Sam's terror of clowns.

"I still don't see why we're goin' to England," Dean grumbled. He was obviously complaining only to try hide how uncomfortable he was, squirming around in his seat, but it didn't fool Sam in the slightest. The guy was already sweating, and breathing too loudly and far too quickly.

"We're going because some unnatural crap is going on there," Sam replied, flicking through Dad's journal for the umpteenth time. He kept hoping he had missed something, but all that greeted his eyes were the same few paragraphs. He honestly wasn't surprised that there wasn't much. Dad had written that pretty much everyone he asked about it refused to give information. Bobby had e-mailed a few European hunters, who had all replied with similar, polite messages denying any knowledge of the case. It was so weird. A blue phone-box from the 1960s traversing the world, and no one even noticing it (or at least, admitting to noticing it).

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know, bitch. Why aren't the English hunters doing something about it?" Dean suddenly frowned, distracted by the thought of hunters in different countries. "Do they even_ have_ English hunters?"

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. There are hunters in every country on the globe. The majority are around the Mediterranean and Asia. We asked a few via e-mail, but they said they didn't know anything."

"Yeah, right," Dean muttered. Sam had to agree with him there. He figured that the hunters had either been corrupted by whatever was in the phone booth, owed something to or were friends with the inhabitants, or just honestly weren't aware about it. He somehow doubted the last option, though.

The plane shook and the pilot welcomed them aboard while Dean swore quietly under his breath. After the safety briefing, the aircraft shuddered and Dean dug his fingers into Sam's arm as it took off into the sky.

When the plane finally tilted back to being horizontal, some few miles into the sky, Sam was sure he would have indentations form Dean's fingers in his arm when he finally was released from his brother's tight grasp on his arm.

He flexed his arm and glanced at Dean, who was now determinedly glaring at the blue sky through the small window.

"It's not natural."

"Of course it's not, Dean. That's why we're going."

"I'm not talkin' 'bout the blue box. I'm talkin' 'bout flyin'. It's not natural. Nothin' should be able to fly. Nothin' belongs up here," Dean said. Sam looked at him again, to see his brother still staring resolutely out of the window.

"There's always birds," Sam shrugged. "You should probably go to sleep. This philosophical stuff coming from you is making me feel worried."

"It's still day!"

"It'll make the flight go quicker."

Dean immediately shut up and closed the shutter on his window, and rested his head on his arm against the wall of the plane. It took a while for his breathing to slow down, but when it did, he was snoring loudly.

Sam smiled slightly, and continued perusing John's journal.

Several hours after landing, Sam was ready to punch Dean. He had hoped that once they landed and hired a car, Dean would have stopped whining and complaining about Britain, but it had only kicked up a notch. Maybe while they drove to the countryside he would be at peace? But, no. Dean was swearing about the weather, the accents, how polite the British generally were, and how they drove on the left-hand side of the road.

"It's stupid, why can't they just drive on the right like normal people," Dean fumed. He spun the wheel aggressively and the car tyres screeched as the car turned around a bend. Sam lurched to the side, and was genuinely scared for his safety for a moment. "I swear, if these stupid evil British demons in the phone box are the same, I'm gonna break some noses."

"Dude, I think I should drive. And calm down! We don't even know if it's a demon or a spirit." He frowned. "Plural. And since when did I say the things were British? They could be freakin' Australian for all we know. And from what I've found out about the blue box, the inhabitants aren't violent. And if that's true, we can reason with them, or use them as allies; Dean, they might even be able to help us fight the Yellow-Eyed demon."

"Whoa, Sammy, I am not havin' some supernatural bastard as an ally," Dean said instantly in reply, waving his free hand in a 'no freakin' way, Sammy' gesture. "I'll never trust those sons of bitches. They're evil, and they always are. And yeah, how much have you found out about these guys apart from the crap in Dad's journal? Nada."

Sam frowned. "It's Sam," he corrected. "And I have supernatural powers, Dean. That kind of makes me one of them." He was surprised that Dean was ignoring the fact that not all supernatural things were evil. Like Lenore and her vampire friends drank animal blood, like the sickening vampires from that book teenage girls in cafes could be overheard discussing earnestly. Dean had reluctantly let Lenore and her friends go, but Sam couldn't blame him that much. He sure was freaked out when Lenore's partner Eli had nearly killed him when he was tied to a chair. A lot of monsters, even if they did good things, could turn bad easily. It was in their nature. But Sam? He was definitely not evil. At least, he didn't think so. And he was determined never to turn bad.

Dean kept his eyes focused on the road. "You aren't even a little bit unnatural," he scoffed.

"Come on, Dean. Precognitive dreams? Telepathy? I'm probably a monster of some kind, or I've been infected by something, and you know it."

"You're my brother, and completely human," was Dean's only reply.

"So because I'm your brother I'm not evil? Dean, it doesn't mean they're evil if they're not related to you! We should at least give them a chance. Lenore and her friends didn't do anything, and they were vampires! And being a human doesn't automatically mean I'm going to be good. Look at freakin' Gordon!"

A few minutes went by in silence. Sam watched the dark scenery go by. We really should find a motel, he thought. The moon was up in the sky (though it was not a full moon, which meant thankfully there wouldn't be any werewolves on the prowl), and the car's inbuilt clock said it was 3 in the morning.

Dean eventually sighed. "Fine. We'll give them a chance." He scowled, staring resolutely out the windscreen. "You're turnin' me soft, college boy."

Sam laughed. "Glad to hear it."

Silence ensued afterwards, until Dean broke it.

"So what have you found out about the blue box?"

Sam squinted at John's journal in his lap. Damn, it was so hard to read in the minimal light. "Well… the box has actually been sighted all over the world, but it's usually seen in Britain. London, to be precise." He flicked over a page. "It usually turns up when something like a UFO sighting occurs-"

"UFOs?" Dean scoffed. "Sound like science-fiction crap to me, not demons."

Sam ignored Dean's interruption. "There's usually people that come in it, a guy and some girl. However…" he peered more closely at the journal. "The couple changes."

"Changes? What do you mean? Like it's some different guy and chick walkin' around with it?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "Seems like it."

"So how are we supposed to find it? How we supposed to find them? We're not out here because you're guessing, are we?"

He made a face. "Deductive reasoning, Dean."

"That's the same thing!" Dean exclaimed.

"Not really. I'm pretty sure we're gonna find him out here."

"What makes you sure, Sammy?"

"There was a supposed UFO sighting here yesterday."

"Yesterday? Did you have some freaky-ass vision about it? Is that why we came to this island?"

"I read it in the newspaper they gave me on the plane, Dean."

"I knew that. So what happened in this 'sighting'?" Dean asked taking his hands off the wheel to make air quotation marks. Sam nearly lunged to get his own hands on the wheel out of worry that Dean would crash the vehicle. But Dean replaced his hands, and he relaxed. But he still didn't trust Dean with driving on the left-hand side of the road.

Sam pulled the page he had ripped from the newspaper, with the title WOMAN FOUND DEAD, HUSBAND CLAIMS ALIENS ARE GUILTY. Dean glanced over and scoffed at the title.

"Lookin' real promising, Sammy. It's not even a good headline."

Sam turned to glare at Dean and was blinded by the headlights of a car going past. Eyes watering, he perused the article for the information he had found on the plane.

"Some old farmer lady in Lincolnshire was found dead by her husband. He said that lights at around 11:30 blinded them both the previous night, and then he lost consciousness. He woke up in the morning on the ground outside the house and his wife was dead. It said she had no exterior or interior injuries. She was just dead. No signs of a heart attack, stroke, nothing. That's one of the reasons her husband blamed aliens."

"Seriously? That's all we had goin'? How do we know the blue box will turn up there?" Dean asked, bewildered.

"There are a lot of UFO sightings in the UK," Sam offered. "And for nearly all the serious ones, where somebody dies or gets hurt or something, this blue box has turned up." He paused."Dean, I'm pretty sure this is really big. There were carvings of the box in a Roman household. And some people that were due to take a trip on the Titanic cancelled their trip and their friend reportedly had a blue box. And then there was-"

"Okay, I get the picture," Dean interrupted. "So I guess this is a time-travelling box now."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "That's crazy even by our standards. I'm guessing that whatever's in it is probably psychic. I think it built the box however many years ago and it just travels around, going to UFO sightings."

Dean shrugged. "Sounds legit to me. Except the UFO part."

"Huh. So how far away are we?"

His brother shrugged again. "60 miles, maybe."

Sam looked out the window, trying to see if he could spot anything that resembled a town. He knew it was unlikely he'd be able to see anything, and he didn't expect to see anything, but then there was… what the f-

Sam's head suddenly split in pain, as if someone had just cut it open with an axe and was pouring acid into his brain. He couldn't think clearly, and he reeled backwards, blood flying from his nose, and his head smashed into the headrest, hard. Everything went foggy, and he heard Dean yell somewhere in the distance, "Sammy?" His brother's hand grasped his shoulder, and Sam looked up, trying to fight the pain of whatever was putting a skewer through his brain, just in time to see something blue spin in a path straight towards the front of the car.

"Look out…" he tried to say, but he slumped as the pain in his head escalated, and through closing eyelids, saw his brother lunge across the seat to put an arm in front of him with a "Son of a bitch!" and felt the crunch of the blue box colliding with the car, but he didn't feel anything after that, not for a long time.

**Gosh! What's happened? Please review if you liked it (or if you have any writing tips for me. I'm always open for new ideas) The next chapter will be up very soon.**


	2. A Crashed Car and a Guilty Conscience

**Well, I said i'd update soon, didn't I? This is Clara's POV**

Clara was practically bouncing up and down, leaning towards the Doctor with her eyes shining with excitement. "So where are we headed this time, Doctor?"

The Doctor beamed back at her and spun around the TARDIS console, flicking gadgets and gizmos, long-coat flying out behind him. "I am going to introduce you to Perseus!" he announced gleefully.

"Perseus?" Clara asked. "Isn't he some Greek hero-guy from mythology?" She was fine with going back in time to meet historical figures, but she hadn't realised that some mythological characters would be real. "The one that fought Medusa?"

The Timelord grinned at her. "That's right! Unfortunately he only killed one of the Gorgons, they actually were aliens that were planning to combine their world with Earth." He shuddered. "But my old friend Sarah-Jane Smith and her son stopped it!" He was always so excitable and animated about everything he talked about.

Clara nodded. "Isn't she a journalist?"

"Yes. She was." The Doctor's face slid from happy to sad. His movements became less energetic. But his eyes quickly brightened and his infectious smile was once again occupying his face.

"So when you meet him, don't say anything that he might take offense to. Try not to mention his dad; he might get a bit angry. He's a bit sensitive when it comes to family, and most certainly-" he winced, "do not mention his grandfather."

"Didn't his grandfather order his mum to be killed while she was pregnant with him or something?" Clara asked.

"Yep. That's why we don't mention him." He flicked a switch and was almost skipping towards the door. Then the Doctor spun around again and pointed a finger at Clara. "And don't get on Andromeda's bad side! She's lovely when she likes you, but if not…" the Doctor pulled a face.

"Ah." Clara assumed his painfully ridiculous expression meant something like disembowelment.

"But I'm sure you won't upset her," he told her, pinching her cheeks like some grandmother. Clara just allowed it to happen. It was very like him. "Because you're clever, you are." He beamed at her. "Let's meet some heroes!" he ended, punching the air with his fist. The Doctor grabbed Clara's arm and pulled her eagerly towards the door. His excitement was getting away with him again. She wondered what monster would be waiting outside the doors. Every time they landed somewhere, something was always trying to take over and/or kill the world. She laughed, but it was stopped short when the TARDIS gave an almighty lurch and she was pushed into the Doctor and they were together thrown against the door of the TARDIS.

"Wha-?" she spluttered with a mouthful of the Doctor's coat. She looked up at his face and saw that he was just as surprised as she was. "What was that?" she demanded, as his confusion cleared off his face.

"Do you have to do this now?" he scolded the console. He glanced back down at her and noticed her bewildered expression.

"Do what now?" she asked immediately.

"Sometimes the TARDIS decides to take me somewhere by herself," he explained. "I usually don't know where."

Clara made a face at the console. She didn't like the TARDIS, and she was 100% sure that she didn't like her back. It was an annoying machine. Well, the travelling-through-time-and-space part was pretty cool, but the TARDIS wouldn't let her in by herself, and when she had to save the Doctor from the eventual collapse of the pocket dimension, the TARDIS had argued with her via an annoying hologram of Clara. She'd eventually forced her way in and saved him (no thanks to the stupid machine), and the Doctor had thought it was hysterically funny when he found out.

The TARDIS heaved to a standstill, and the two (as they had only just regained their balance) once again stumbled into the door.

"Can you tell where we've landed?" Clara asked immediately.

"Well there's only one way to find out," he said and was about to push open the door again when he stopped. "Although technically, I could go up to the console and it would tell me where we were… and when, of course."

"Well, where's the fun in that?" She paused. "Unless it's zero gravity outside and we explode or implode or something."

The Doctor smiled again. "Exactly!" And he pushed the door open and they made their way outside. Clara hoped she wouldn't implode.

Both the Doctor and Clara weren't sure what they were expecting to see when they stood outside, but it sure wasn't an empty road winding its way through the countryside, stinking like petrol. It was night-time as well, and Clara shivered from the cold breeze.

"Oh," she said, disappointed. "Great tourist spot, I'm sure."

The Timelord sniffed the air and plucked a blade of grass from the side of the country road and stuck it in his mouth. He slowly chewed it with a thoughtful expression, like a farm animal, before he spat it out, with a few disgusted sound effects. "Eugh. It's 2006, I think. Lincolnshire." He dragged his fingers over his tongue, trying to get rid of the flavour. Then he noticed Clara's quizzical and faintly disgusted expression.

"You can tell what year it is from eating grass?" She frowned at the chewed remains on the road. "Is Britain really that gross?"

"Tasting," he corrected. He looked up the highway to the west, where not a vehicle was in sight. "And England's not bad at all. Ugh," he shuddered. "You should try Raxacoricofallapatorius. It is completely disgusting. I used to be able to tell by smelling, as well, but…" he waved his hand through the air and sniffed his fingers. "…All I can smell right now is petrol." He glanced back at the half-masticated grass. "The grass tasted like petrol, too."

"The TARDIS didn't land on anyone, did she?" Clara said with a horrified look. She glanced down at her feet, and was met with the view of a slick, shiny road smelling strongly of petrol. A trickle of liquid oozed its way into a puddle in an indentation in the middle of the road.

The two shared a worried glance, and then sprinted around to the other side of the TARDIS.

After the initial shock of seeing the twisted remains of the car, the Doctor was using his sonic screwdriver in a very human fashion to pry the nuts and bolts from the car door. She had heard that it apparently 'didn't do wood', and by the looks of it, it didn't do car doors either. Clara hoped that the passengers were still alive, but the doors were dented in ways that made them impossible to open without pulling them clean off, and the blood on the windscreen of the left-hand side certainly didn't leave much promise of the travellers' survival. Safety glass littered the road, along with scraps of metal and papers, and the belongings of the people in the car. A hole in the windscreen had a piece of paper dangling limply from the edge of the hole, stuck on with a little bit of blood.

Clara had no idea what to do. Her job was looking after kids. She had no medical training, no survival skills, and had never been in an accident in her entire short life. What was she meant to do?

Clara suddenly remembered a first aid course she had taken in her last year of high school. CPR? That probably wouldn't help if they were bleeding everywhere. Bandages? Bandages.

"I'll get some bandages," she blurted out, and ran back inside the TARDIS and through another door, which led to the other, more dangerous sections of the machine. The TARDIS must have been feeling guilty for landing on the car, or was just determined to help the unconscious (or dead) people in the car, because the first room she turned to was a medical bay, with fresh bandages sitting neatly on a sick-bed.

When she arrived outside once again, the Doctor managed to pull the driver's door off and threw it to the ground with a huge crash that sounded particularly alien in the empty countryside. He dusted off his hands and reached in to pull out the driver. Clara moved closer to help, and got a good view of the two travellers.

The driver had a hand resting on the other passenger's seat, as if he had flung out an arm to protect him. The driver was a young man, probably in his mid or late twenties, with short blonde hair. His head was drooped and a large bruise had formed on his forehead, with surprisingly little blood.

The other man apparently hadn't been as lucky. Blood has spattered the windscreen in front of him, with steady trickle from his nose dripping onto his jeans and his plaid shirt. His mop of brown hair covered any damage there might have been to his head, but his face, which was not hidden, was even younger than the older man, maybe only 22 or 23. A small trickled of blood made its way from the corner of his mouth.

The two looked slightly similar, so Clara imagined that they would probably be related. Cousins, maybe?

The Doctor carefully pulled them out of the wreckage after he was done with the seatbelts (all this was done with difficulty, as from what they could see, the probably shorter, and older man was around 6'1"), and Clara knelt by the first man to be pulled out, the older one, and put her fingers on his neck for a pulse.

She breathed a sigh of relief when the fluttering of a heartbeat could be felt on her fingers. Reaching behind her, where the medical articles were lying on the ground, she pulled a strip of bandage off, and found her fingers were trembling slightly.

"I don't know how to do this," she found herself telling the Doctor.

He replied with a humourless smile. "You've got a better chance of knowing what to do than me," he said. "It's been a very long time since I did any first aid." He looked at the still bodies. "And the last time was on a hallucinating Ood, so that technically didn't even count."

"I'm not even going to ask."

They decided it would just be best to carry them into the TARDIS. It was safer in there; glass was littering the ground outside, and they wouldn't make it if another car hit the wreckage. Clara wrapped a bandage experimentally around the older man's bruised face, and they carried him in first and laid him neatly on the floor.

The second man appeared to be more seriously injured, so they took more care. When the two were laying on different sides of the TARDIS console (they were concerned that if one of them woke up, he might spasm and hit the other), Clara went back outside and retrieved the young men's possessions that had flown everywhere in the crash.

"This is the last of it, Doctor," Clara told him as she came in with a leather journal and a slightly wet and bloody newspaper clipping, which she folded up neatly and placed inside the journal. "At least, it's the last I could find."

The Doctor was scanning the two men with his sonic screwdriver for answer. He glared at the device and turned to Clara. "The shorter man is… in his mid or late 20s, I think. The other is probably in his early 20s. I'm not sure if they're related, the younger one has something weird in his blood." He frowned at the screwdriver and hit it. "It says it's blood- or sulphur?"

"Well, he can't possibly have any of that," she replied. "Does it say how badly they're injured?" she added, concerned.

"No. My screwdriver can only tell about how old their bones are, which is pretty much their age, plus a few months. But the TARDIS told me their injuries," the Doctor answered, rapping his knuckles on a screen. "She says the younger one is suffering head trauma, hopefully mild, like concussion or something. The shorter one's just knocked out. He should wake up soon." He slipped the screwdriver back into his coat pocket and patted it. Then he saw the journal in Clara's hands. "Can I see that?"

She passed it over. "Yeah, but Doctor, I'm not sure if-" but he was already leafing through the book. She sighed. That was very typical of him. "That would be an invasion of privacy, wouldn't it?"

He shrugged. "I don't think- Oh! They're American."

Clara frowned. "How can you tell?"

He continued looking through the journal. "They spelt 'colour' without a 'u'." He squinted at a page. His face took on a slightly nervous look and he flipped the page quickly.

"What is it?" Clara demanded.

"Nothing important." His expression changed from slight worry to full-blown curiosity. "They've been looking for us!"

"What?" Clara exclaimed. She stepped around the bodies to get a view of the journal.

"Look here." The Doctor moved next to her, and she was suddenly aware of how close he was. He pointed at a page.

The page had various sketches and information written in a black pen, which would have been normal for maybe a writer's journal, but the sketches were that of the TARDIS. Scribbles all over the page read information about sightings of the TARDIS, which was just referred to as 'the blue box', or occasionally 'the police box'. 'Supposed UFO sightings' was written down in a few places, and an article on the newspaper clipping about an extra-terrestrial murder was circled. A few drops of blood were on the picture of an elderly man.

"Supposed UFO sighting around here?" the Doctor frowned, switching his gaze to the newspaper article. The TARDIS gave a rumble. "Oh, so _that's_ why you brought us here." He perused the article again.

"Well," Clara said after a silence, "they found us." But the journal was forgotten when one of the figures gave a moan and opened his eyes.

**Once again, please review! I like hearing how I can improve. The next chapter will be up soon, I have the next few chapters written out, I'm just editing and adding to them.**


	3. Yet Another Interruption

**Well, here's another chapter. This time it's Dean's perspective. Sorry if there's any mistakes, sometimes my brain runs ahead and I miss out whole words. oh yeah, and there might be some inconsistencies, sorry about them.**

When Dean opened his eyes, he didn't see what he expected. He was expecting to see blood, shattered windscreen, maybe the face of a demon or spirit, or, (if he was really unlucky) his own little brother's corpse. He expected everything to be fuzzy and blurred (which it was), but after his vision slid back into focus after a few blinks, he couldn't really believe it. It was too good to be true.

It was just some guy. Just some weirdo, whacked out guy wearing a bow tie for God's sake. And suspenders. No one wore suspenders if they were born anytime after the 40s. Oh, and some dumb tweedy-looking coat. What the Hell. He was bending over, staring right at Dean's face with a level of intensity that made the hunter feel very uncomfortable. His hair (which was even more ridiculous than Sam's) flopped over his eyes. Another face edged into view, a young woman's. They both looked concerned, but relieved to see him awake.

He had been listening to their conversation for a minute or two, as soon as he woke up. All he'd heard was the girl berating the man for leafing through what Dean was sure was his dad's journal. He'd listened intently in hope he would find out how his brother was, but it was to no avail. He decided to wait and pretend to wake up a bit later, so he could hear more, but when he'd heard the man say, "they've been looking for us," he couldn't help but 'wake up'. Freakin' demons.

"Where's my brother?" Dean coughed out. "I know we were in an accident, where is he?" He lifted a hand to his forehead and hissed as his fingers pressed into a huge lump. Ouch.

"Whoa, take it easy!" the girl reprimande. She gave a hesitant glance at something Dean couldn't see. "How are you feeling?"

"Like sunshine and rainbows." The girl and the man exchanged looks of horror, like they thought he was actually serious. "I was in a car accident, how do you think I freakin' feel," he snapped. "Where's my brother?" He attempted to lever himself up onto his arms but failed miserably, and landed heavily on the ground.

"He's here," the man said, speaking for the first time. "He's a bit-" the bow tie-clad guy made some unnecessary and incomprehensible hand gestures, "-out of it still."

"He's awake?" Dean asked, misunderstanding. "Is he hurt bad?"

The man's breath hissed through his teeth as he inhaled. He made a face. "Not really."

"What?" Dean shouted. "Is he okay, or isn't he, or is he awake or not; I want a straight answer, not twisted like you're a freakin' car salesman!" Dean sat up before they could stop him, ignoring the dizziness, and got a good look at his surroundings, leaning his arm on a kind of console.

It was some kind of machine, or at least decorated to look like one. The console sat dead centre of the room, with all kinds of weird gadgets and devices attached, humming softly. Circular designs were etched into two discs that were rotating slowly above the console.

"Where the hell is this?" Dean demanded, taking a shaky step. The floor seemed flat, and didn't _seem_ to be moving, but it felt as if the ground was alive, wobbling and vibrating slightly.

It was like being on a Goddamn plane again.

"Where-" he continued weakly, turning around, but stopped when his question was answered before the words to ask them were even out of his mouth. "Sammy!" His little brother was lying on the floor, like Dean had been, and he was completely still and bloody.

The two people who must have dragged him and Sam out of the wreck stood behind him awkwardly as he dropped to his knees and grabbed Sam by the collar.

"Sammy?" Dean yelled, shaking him. His brother's head lolled, the trail of blood from his nosebleed continuing down his neck and onto Dean's fingers, which gripped his collar tight. He shook him again. "Sam!" When no response came, Dean gently let his little brother's head fall to the floor again, trying desperately to keep his blood-stained fingers from trembling with fear. _Get a grip, you son of a bitch_, Dean scolded himself. _Sam's gonna be just fine. _He pressed them to Sam's throat and was rewarded with a steady pulse, although it was a little too fast to be good. He knew that the man and woman had said Sam was just unconscious, but Dean had seen Sam unconscious before. He had never looked this bad. He looked like shit.

"How long has it been since the car crashed?" He asked the pair, moving his attention to them. "And who are you, anyway?"

The short girl pointed to herself. "I'm Clara Oswald," she announced, and proffered her hand to him. He wiped his hands on his jeans and shook it warily. "We got you out of the wreckage immediately, and the accident was only a few minutes ago. You two were pretty lucky."

Dean looked at the dorky man dressed like how somebody's grandfather would dress, feeling slightly relieved. At least that would explain why Sam hadn't woken up, if the crash was only ten or so minutes ago. "I'd like to know your name too, Mr Holmes," Dean said, mocking the man's dismal sense of fashion. He focused his attention back on Sam.

"I'm the Doctor," the man declared.

"Just 'the Doctor'," Clara interjected helpfully. "Don't bother asking 'Doctor who?', he always looks forward to hearing that."

"Well if you're a doctor, can you tell me what's wrong with my brother?" Dean asked, trying to wrestle with the frustration in his voice.

'The Doctor' ran his fingers through his ridiculously styled hair. "From what the TARDIS has told me, he has head trauma, probably something like concussion."

"TARDIS? What is this crap?"

"The TARDIS is our vehicle."

"Never heard of a 'TARDIS'."

"Well you wouldn't have… at least not by name." The whole time, the Doctor had been speaking playfully. Suddenly that dropped, and his face assumed a serious expression that didn't really suit him. "But you know about me and my ship, and I want to know why you're so interested."

Dean suddenly remembered the moment of the crash. The darkness, Sam flying back in his seat covered in blood, and the blue box smashing into the car. He didn't quite understand how he'd forgotten it. It was like someone had pushed it out of his head in the hopes he wouldn't find it again.

"Son of a bitch."

In a second Dean had his gun in his hands, pointed at the Doctor. Clara's eyes widened and she tried to pull him out of the line of fire. If Dean could have seen his own expression, he would have assumed he was possessed. But he wasn't. He was just pissed.

"If my brother doesn't wake up because you sons of bitches-" he stopped when he saw Clara's face. "_Offspring _of bitches smashed your machine into the car, I will end you." He knew Sam was going to wake up (probably), but he was mostly just furious. Shit drivers annoyed him. And shit demonic drivers pissed him off even more.

The Doctor held his hands up in a placating gesture. "We didn't come here on purpose, and especially not to hurt you or your brother. And we aren't planning to hurt you. We don't even know you. And we don't hurt people. At least, not on purpose. I just want to know why you have these." He held up John Winchester's journal, specifically to the page where Sam had neatly pinned in some drawings and text about the blue box, or the TARDIS, as the Doctor claimed it was called.

Dean weighed the options in his mind. He could try and escape, but he was still dizzy from being knocked out, and wouldn't be able to carry Sam. Or he could play along and maybe discover that they might be friendly. They didn't look particularly big, or strong. He'd be able to gank 'em if it came to it.

"Okay," he said, and slid the gun back into his jeans. Clara looked relieved. "My brother and I were hunt-" Dean stopped himself before he could finish the word 'hunting'. "-Lookin' for you because we thought you might be involved in some pretty freakin' weird things that are happenin'."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Supposed UFO sightings crap." Dean decided not to mention that he thought that they might be demons.

The Doctor appeared to hide a smile. He straightened his bow tie. "Don't worry about any of that, because you'll be leaving us soon."

"Uh-huh. And why's that?" Dean asked calmly. His hand started moving fractionally closer to his flask of Holy water. It seemed the 'Doctor' would reveal his true colours any moment now.

"Because," the Doctor moved to the console and started pushing and twirling random controls, "we are dropping you and your brother off at a hospital."

Dean stopped moving his hand. What?

"It is my fault that your brother's hurt. Well, not really. Although I guess it is." The Doctor scratched his head. "Maybe a little? My machine dumped us here." The TARDIS gave a groan that somehow sounded angry. "Don't use that tone with me!" The Doctor scolded the machine. "And I don't know anything about medicine, and Clara doesn't know much either," he said, pointing to the bandage Dean hadn't noticed was wrapped around his face. He ripped it off.

Right, Dean thought. This guy was not a demon. Demons usually acted normal to avoid being discovered, hunted and exorcised. And they usually possessed normal people as well. No demon in their right evil minds would possess this dude, probably because most demons actually had a sense of dignity.

"Okay. Thanks, I guess," Dean said. "Sorry about the- you know…" he made a pistol with his fingers. He wasn't particularly sorry, but it would be best if he acted like he was. The guy needed a scare (well, deserved it, really).

The Doctor waved his hand. "No offence or anything taken." That made Dean frown, because the gun hadn't been to offend, it had been meant to threaten and/or kill. He still didn't trust Clara or this Doctor. But all thoughts disappeared when the Doctor slammed down a lever and the TARDIS or whatever they called it gave a lurch.

Dean officially hated something more than flying now.

10 seconds of staggering about in the machine made Dean long to be tied up, beaten, and then forced to research the dullest monsters possible.

Sam stayed practically still the whole time; head lolling about while the TARDIS listed left and right, up and down…

And then as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

"You alright?" Clara asked. Dean gave her a glare, which seemed to answer her question. She seemed fine, just her hair was a little wind-swept.

"What just happened?" Dean muttered, breathing through his mouth, trying not to be sick.

"The TARDIS moved," the Doctor fleetingly explained. Dean could tell there was more to be said on that, but he didn't press the matter. Either the man didn't want to explain, or couldn't be bothered to.

"So where are we?"

"London."

"London?" He tried to make sense of what had just happened. "We were in Lindisfarne 30 seconds ago!"

"Lincolnshire."

"Whatever."

The Doctor shrugged. "You might want to step outside. I don't want you to throw up inside the TARDIS."

Dean privately wanted to get the hell out of the machine, but didn't say so. He pushed open the door and was greeted by a blast of cold air and an empty alleyway. A stray cat snarled when it saw him, but he ignored it. He took in a deep breath. The air stank like exhaust, but he found he just didn't care.

"Haven't you ever been to London?" Clara asked. Dean turned around to see the Doctor closing the TARDIS door behind him. Then he noticed the size of the outside compared to what he saw inside.

"Holy crap!" Dean gasped. "It's-"

"Smaller on the outside, yes," Clara finished for him. The Doctor shot a bemused glance at her.

"Uh, yeah. I was going to say 'bigger on the inside,' but that works too."

"Don't ask," she quickly advised.

"Wasn't goin' to." Dean took a few more deep breaths and thought about Sam. "Is this thing near a hospital?"

"Yeah," the Doctor replied. "Should we pull him out and-" he frowned. "We don't even know your name yet!"

"What? Oh," Dean realised. "My name's-" he briefly considered lying, but they were helping him… "Dean Winchester." Technically he was dead anyway, so they wouldn't be able to find him even if they did try to track him down.

"Pleased to meet you Dean. Now let's get some help for your brother."

"Sounds go-"

For what seemed to be the millionth time today, there was another interruption, this one in the form of a blinding light from the exterior of the TARDIS. Dean stumbled back, hands covering his eyes, and he heard the Doctor yell, "No! NO!"

The light was piercing through the gaps between his fingers, so bright it was hurting, like his eyes were frying in his sockets, he squeezed them together tighter and-

It stopped.

Hesitantly, he opened his fingers a crack. He removed his hands completely and blinking the light spots out of his eyes, he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Where the TARDIS had stood seconds ago there was nothing.

In half a second his stomach plummeted to his feet and his heart rose into his throat, pumping wildly.

The TARDIS was gone. And Sam was still unconscious on the ground in there. Which meant Dean was alone, without a car, and without Dad's journal, which had been left on the console of the machine.

Well, he was definitely screwed now.

**Next chapter should be up pretty soon, from the Doctor's POV. Please review!**


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